


Fair and Square

by TheRedPoet



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedPoet/pseuds/TheRedPoet
Summary: Life had been a lot easier before Gideon had seen Harrow’s tits.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 128





	Fair and Square

**Author's Note:**

> Well... here goes. This mess of a fic started off with nothing but the line in the summary as its base, with absolutely no clue of where to go beyond that. I've wanted to dip my toes into this fandom for a while, though, and I have an idea for an actual proper story that I wanted to give a go. I think I'll need to do a few more of these, though, because I don't really feel good about my grasp of the character voices yet.
> 
> Anyways, until the point where I feel ready to write my glorious Roman Empire with necromancy AU, here's some really stupid smut. :p

Life had been a lot easier before Gideon had seen Harrow’s tits.

For a whole lot of reasons, she hadn’t realised that would be the moment where everything went to the shit, but it had been. For one, she had been busy kinda-sorta dying. That at least explained why she hadn’t even had any chance to drop any of the many very witty comments she had in mind before passing out.

But ever since that day, the memory came to her in her dreams. Harrowhark Nonagesimus, short and skinny, wonderfully and horrifying naked. The slight curves of her breasts, little bumps that barely deserved the name, and the wispy dusting of dark curls above her sex.

It was the kind of shit that’d haunt anyone’s dreams, but boy oh boy did it screw with hers.

Gideon woke up feeling absolutely fucked, and not in the good way. The way she’d always figured she’d feel like after her first bender in the cohorts. With a wide-eyed recruit (who’d recently started looking a lot like Dulcinea Septimus) on one side and her strict but fair drill instructor on the other, both looking suitably tousled and satisfied.

Instead, when Gideon woke up from her awesome heroics, she found The Reverend Daughter at her bedside, face paint fraying at the edges. If she’d had enough energy to move she might’ve flinched out of the bed.

“Morning, oh dark mistress,” she slurred, voice coming out in a dry, raspy croak.

She’d half expected a punch in the gut. She’d definitely expected a comeback. At least a damn scowl. 

Nothing.

Harrow just looked at her like… She couldn’t say. She’d never looked at her like that before. Hell, she was pretty sure she’d never looked at anything or anyone like that before. 

Uncertain? 

Scared?

Shit.

“Are you okay?” Gideon asked.

Dark eyebrows furrowed. Some of her facepaint cracked and flaked off. Harrow stared like she’d grown a second head or something.

“Am I? Am I-” She drew a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself down. It didn’t go very well. “Am I okay?!” She all but shrieked.

She seized the front of Gideon’s robes, then immediately let go as if the fabric had burned her tiny little goblin fingers.

Gideon shrugged, but it was under the covers so the monumental effort of it was wasted. 

“Well… yeah. You look like shit, Nonagesimus.” She felt obligated to add. “Even more so than usual.”

Harrow picked up a cup from the bedside table and it was only then that Gideon realised that she was in the bed next to hers and not on the makeshift beddings on the floor outside. That was disturbing in all kinds of ways she didn’t want to think about.

She shoved the cup of water into Gideon’s hands.

“Drink.” Gideon obeyed. Not because she’d ordered her, but because she wanted to in the first place.

She took a large gulp of gloriously cool water and let it wash over her parched tongue, her swollen gums, and then promptly half-choked on the damn stuff.

“Drink slowly,” Harrow growled, and it was a testament to just how shit Gideon was feeling that her necromancer managed to wrestle the cup out of her hands with her tiny little scarecrow stick-arms.

“I can do it myself,” Gideon muttered.

She reached out for the cup, and was denied. “Quite obviously, Griddle, you cannot. Open your mouth.”

At least Gideon wasn’t too fucked up to raise an eyebrow at that. “Pretty sure just saying that counts as inappropriate Cav-Necro relations, Harrowkins.”

“Shut up and drink.”

It was tempting to refuse, just to see what Harrow would do, but Gideon felt reasonably certain it would involve skeletons prying her jaw open for their mistress, and that just wasn’t her idea of fun. Harrow’s, probably, which was just another reason to let her do it.

Still, she didn’t just give in. She made sure to give Harrow as filthy a look as she could muster, licking her dry, chapped lips for emphasis. Despite all that, Harrow was disturbingly gentle about it all. She poured the water slowly into Gideon’s mouth, pausing every so often to give her time to swallow - which she did obediently, no comments thanks.

“So…” she finally said, dropping back onto the pillow and letting her eyes drift shut for a moment. “Did we get anything from the Lyctor room the key opened?”

Another frown and something else that Gideon couldn’t identify? Pain?

“No. If you die I cannot complete the trials. I’ve been guarding you in order to avoid that.”

Gideon really didn’t know what to say to that. “And am I going to die?”

That same look again. Something like a wince. Maybe it was because of the face paint peeling off bit by bit that she could see it now.

“Palamedes Sextus doesn’t believe so, though by all rights, you should’ve died there in the tunnel. I miscalculated.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“But you could have. Why did you ever agree to any of this?”

“You asked. Besides, it’s not as though I didn’t get anything out of it.”

Harrow rubbed at her face in a nervous gesture and some pink skin showed beneath.“Your freedom to go risk your life in the cohorts isn’t worth risking it like that here, Griddle.”

Gideon shrugged and grinned. “Maybe not, but that’s not what I meant. I also got to see your tits.”

Harrow opened her mouth to say something. Closed it again. She repeated that process twice more before finally managing to speak through clenched teeth. “You are disgusting. Go back to sleep.”

Gideon was pretty sure she could see a flush on Harrow’s cheeks where the paint didn’t obscure it. She happily closed her eyes and let sleep sweep over her once more.

Along with dreams of a dark-eyed, naked and disturbingly, confusingly, alluring necromancer.

When she woke up the next time, Gideon felt a lot better. Not great, but definitely better. A dry biscuit had been set on the bedside table along with another cup of water. She drank the water, stuffed the biscuit into her mouth whole, and chewed it slowly.

Next she kicked her legs out from under the blankets she’d been carefully swaddled in and tried standing. Her head spun and she had to hold on to the frame of the bed, but then it passed. Could’ve been worse. No puking or fainting. Which was good because that shit would’ve been embarrassing.

Gideon moved into the main room and found her necromancer there. Harrow had been working on something that involved hell of a lot of flimsy, books and her own notes. It was all tangled up in a complete mess Gideon was sure her Necro found completely logical and tidy. Had was the key word, though, because Harrow was currently asleep. She snored a little and had drooled over one of her notebooks.

Asleep, she looked very young. Vulnerable. Gideon entertained the idea of picking her up and carrying her back to the bedroom, but decided against it. That was a good way to get skewered by bone shards. So she nudged the other girl with her foot.

“Yo. Most unboned mistress. Rise and shine.”

Harrow didn’t move an inch, but something in her breathing changed. A few moments passed.

“What is it, Griddle?”

“I figured I’d give that thing they call a shower a go, but since I’m all weak from keeping you alive during the trial, I thought maybe you’d help me. Make sure I don’t fall and hurt myself. Wash my back.” Gideon batted her eyelashes at the other girl.

Harrow pushed herself to a sitting position with as much dignity as she could muster, which was to say, very little. She looked Gideon up and down. “Certainly.”

She began to reach for her pocket, where Gideon knew she had a collection of bones. A chill went down Gideon’s spine and it must’ve shown, because Harrow suddenly looked rather smug.

“On second thought, I think I’m good.”

“I am thrilled about your rapid convalescence.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Gideon muttered and beat a hasty retreat into the showers.

It wasn’t until she was standing under the hot spray, and until she’d gotten used to that new, novel experience, that she began to look back on the last couple of days. Harrow caring about her. Worrying over her. 

That on its own was bad enough - some seriously weird shit - but then Gideon had found herself flirting with her. Maybe she’d hit her head when she fell and this was some kind of brain damage induced hallucination. Honestly, it made more sense than anything else.

Gideon covered herself in the soap - which she’d only started using after confirming with Teacher that it wasn’t made out of human fat - and began to scrub off the grime and blood.

None of this would ever have happened if Gideon hadn’t seen Harrow’s tits. Her tiny, perky, cute little tits, with nipples that looked kind of like chocolate buttons. Gideon shivered and only then realised her hands were running along the curves of her own breasts - far superior to Harrow’s in every way - and nope. Nope, nope, nope.

That was way, way too weird.

Gideon hurried out of the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself and heading out of the bathroom before her hands got up to anything even crazier than starting to diddle herself thinking about Harrowhark Nogagesimus. She might be horny, lonely and frankly fucking desperate, but she wasn’t that horny, lonely or desperate.

Harrowhawk had put away all of her things and restored their room to some semblance of order and sat on the bed, waiting with poorly veiled impatience.

“There you are. What in all the world were you doing in there for so long?”

Gideon didn’t blush. She was far too cool and suave to blush. But she couldn’t really look at Harrow without getting flashbacks of her walking out of the siphoning trial room, naked, looking like some angel of death come to pluck Gideon up and take her to wherever souls went when they’d died being awesome and stupid.

“Uh- Just… You know, trying out the shower.”

Harrow shook her head. “You’re wasting precious time and water.”

“Maybe, but at least I smell nice now.”

Harrow opened her mouth, presumably to argue the point, and then closed it again, presumably because she agreed with Gideon but refused to admit it.

A moment passed in silence and when Gideon finally had managed to push aside the memory of her near-masturbatory shower-session and looked at Harrow, her necromancer quickly looked away. Huh.

Had she been looking at Gideon? 

Gideon yawned and stretched in place, letting the little towel climb a few inches up her thigh and making sure to flex her arms all the while. Again, Harrow’s eyes flicked to her and then away.

Interesting. Gideon toyed with the idea of dropping the towel and standing there, naked, with her hands at her hips, saying something like sauve like. ‘Do you like what you’re seeing?’

Instead, she chickened out and chickened out hard, fleeing the room and hiding around a corner as she got dressed. By the time she donned her vestments, Harrow had moved into the bathroom and was re-applying her paint. Gideon sighed, walked up next to her, and began to do the same.

They arrived in the dining hall to find it empty, with the exception of the skeletons busily cleaning up the last remnants of the meal that had been served.

“Woops,” Gideon muttered. “Guess we’re late.”

“So it would seem,” Harrow said. “If only someone hadn’t spent thirty-five minutes in the shower.”

The mature option would probably have been to ignore the jibe. Gideon decided to settle on the ‘fuck that’ option instead.

“I was covered in blood from keeping you alive,” she said. “And that showerhead is just magic. You gotta try it, Harrow. The things it can do.”

“You are repulsive.”

“You asked,” Gideon said with a shrug. “Besides there’s nothing wrong with a bit of self loving every once in a while. You should try it. Maybe you’d be less grumpy if you got yourself off every once in a while.”

“Not here,” Harrow hissed.

Gideon looked around theatrically. “There’s nobody here. Unless you’re worried about making the skeletons blush when they hear about the stuff you get up to with their component parts.”

Harrow’s eyes widened in something like outrage. “I do not-“

“Uh-huh. So what do you fantasise about when you’re doing your best impression of Naughty Nuns of the Ninth?”

Gideon waggled her eyebrows.

Harrow grabbed her shoulders and stared straight up at Gideon with her beady little eyes. When she spoke her tone was absolute deadpan, words clipped and enunciated with a nightmarish clarity considering the content. “Whenever I masturbate, I think of making passionate love to Ortus. Obviously.”

Gideon stared at her in utter horror. Not so much about the grossness of the mental image as the terrifying fact that Harrow had just cracked a joke. The world was, without any doubt, about to end. This was the first sign.

The corner of Harrow’s mouth turned up just a fraction and once the shock settled Gideon found herself grinning in answer.

“Never thought you had it in you… which is what she said, by the way.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me. Much like every single other subject besides your stupid sword.”

“I do know some things,” Gideon protested.

“Such as? Go on. Do tell.”

Gideon leaned in a little closer and took some satisfaction in Harrow edging half a step back. “I know that her divine highness of the little death touches herself at night and that she’s got pretty little tits.”

Gideon knew she was pushing her luck and she wasn’t even sure why she was doing it.

Harrow froze in place and stared at her and Gideon had absolutely no clue what was going on behind those dark, dark eyes. 

“What did you say?” Harrow whispered.

“That I know that you-”

“Not that,” Harrow snapped. “The second part of the statement.”

Gideon felt herself blush. “You’ve got cute tits.”

Harrow opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but didn’t manage jack shit. She swallowed and looked down at her feet. “Oh.”

Skeletons interrupted them, just as Gideon could’ve sworn she saw Harrow’s cheeks possible, probably darken under the face paint. The set a fresh helping of some sort of stew with vegetables on the table, along with a loaf of bread, and a tub of butter. For a little while, that kept Gideon’s full attention. Harrow picked at her food and looked… distracted. The first part wasn’t all that weird - for Harrow - but the second was new.

“Hey. Divine Darkness. What’s up?”

Harrow blinked. “I-”

“Did I make things weird?”

“I- yes. Yes, you did, Griddle.”

“Ah. Was it because I saw your tits? And also, kind of, your-”

“Yes, Griddle!” Harrow snapped, cutting across her. “Obviously.”

Gideon frowned. They really didn’t have time for all this new shit now. Later, sure. Maybe. If she had time before heading off to join the cohorts. Getting Harrow distracted and off balance was fun and all, but it probably wasn’t going to be helping her solve whatever necromantic crap she needed to solve, and that seemed like the sort of thing that’d get them both killed.

“Right,” Gideon said, and stood. “Let’s fix this.”

She made a shooing motion towards the skeletons lingering at the corners of the room and it was a testament to the skill of whoever had made them that they interpreted that as dismissal and filed off.

Harrow’s dark eyes were wide as she shifted in her seat to keep an eye on Gideon. She looked the way she usually did before Gideon did something particularly cool - or to Harrow’s mind, stupid.

“One does not simply ‘fix’ something like this,” Harrow said. “It happened, you made it weird, and you’re making it weirder.”

“It’s weird because I haven’t made it even yet, so… Here goes.”

Harrow looked like she was going to object again, so Gideon went for it before she had the chance. She pushed open her long, flapping robes, grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt, and pulled it up over her stomach. Harrow tried to say something. She failed. Gideon hoped she wasn’t having an aneurism or something and kept going, raising the shirt up towards the curves of her breasts and pulling her bando along with it.

She stood there for a while, shirt at her collarbones, and Harrow just stared and didn’t say one god damned word. At first, that made her feel pretty good about herself. Obviously, her tits were far superior to Harrow’s… They were there, unlike hers, and so they won by default, but even compared to some of her skinny mags she felt she was doing pretty well for herself. Once half a minute or so had gone by, though, Gideon began to seriously worry that something had gone wrong somewhere.

“Uh… Gloom mistress?” She waved her hand in front of Harrow’s face.

Harrow waved it aside. “Yes, yes.”

Gideon could see a bead of sweat on her forehead and good old ordinary sweat, not blood. “So… Are you happy now? Everything even - fair and square, etcetera?”

Harrow swallowed and straightened in her chair, crossing her legs primly. She licked her lips and her face puckered up at the taste of the paint.

“It would be inaccurate to characterise it as ‘happy’,” Harrow said.

She met Gideon’s eyes and for a moment her gaze was defiant. Then it dipped.

“I'm going to be getting cold here,” Gideon said, though she felt anything but. “Might even call it a bit ‘nippy’.”

Harrow drew a slow, deep breath, like she’d do to steady herself before some complicated working. She ignored the joke, probably because she had an absolute shit sense of humour. Her gaze kept dropping down along Gideon’s stomach where muscle stood out starkly against her skin, with barely any body fat to speak of after a life on the excuse for food the Ninth House had served, and to her hips. Again, Harrow’s tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Fine,” Harrow said, her voice low and commanding. “If you wish for penanance, go ahead. Do it.”

It was Gideon’s time to feel off balance. Had Harrow just asked her to…? She had. She definitely just had. She felt a little quiver run down along her stomach, but she wasn’t about to chicken out in front of Harrowhark Nonagesimus. That was never ever going to happen.

“Fine,” Gideon echoed. “You want a look? I’ll give you a look.”

Her heart was beating hard in her chest now and she was breathing hard, but she was pretty sure Harrow couldn’t tell from over there. If she had been able to tell, she would’ve looked a lot more smug.

Gideon yanked her pants and her underwear down together without making a production of it, leaving them at her knees. 

It was a treat to see Harrow speechless. The part where she shut up was obviously important, but mostly, the vulnerability reminded Gideon that her necromancer wasn't anywhere near as tough as she made herself out to be. This time, it also let Gideon know that Harrow liked looking at her tits and at her cunt.

“You done?” She asked, smirking at Harrow.

“No,” Harrow said. “My clothes burned to ash. Take yours off. Keep the robe, but take off the rest.”

Now, Gideon knew she could tell Harrow to fuck off. She’d given more than enough for things to be fair and square, but that had never been the point at all, had it? Harrow wanted more. That gave Gideon an edge and she was hardwired to use it. So she obeyed. She got out of her pants, her shirt, her underwear. She dropped it all in a pile at her mistress’ feet and pulled the robe over the shoulders as an afterthought.

Harrow stared at her and it was with a naked hunger now. Gideon stepped closer, until their toes almost touched, and parted her legs just enough to give her necromancer the view she clearly wanted.

“Satisfied?” She asked.

Harrow opened her mouth to speak… and then there were steps outside the room. The necromancer’s eyes widened and she grabbed Gideon’s wrist, yanking her back down into the chair. There, Gideon began to wrap the loose robes about her, kicked the clothes under the table, and settled in her seat as if she hadn’t finished eating. A moment later, the second house necromancer and her cavalier walked on it.

They exchanged courteous nods with Harrow and Gideon, grabbed some food for the road, and left.

“Fuck that was close,” Gideon gasped as they left. “I cannot believe you almost let one of the people I might be fighting with in the cohorts see my tits, Harrow.”

“This entire mess was your idea, Griddle. I certainly wouldn’t have proposed something so crass!”

“But you seemed to like me being crass. I barely got a look at you, but you certainly got a good look at me.”

“I never asked to get a look at you!”

“Did too! You made me get naked right here!”

“So why did you?”

That brought Gideon up short. Why had she? The answer was simple.

“You asked… and I kinda wanted to see what you’d do.”

“I am ever so glad to continue to enlighten you.”

“Oh come off it,” Gideon said. “You liked looking. You liked it a lot. Go on. Deny it.”

Harrow’s lips were clear of paint now, the better to show how they were pressed together so tightly they looked white and bloodless. “I didn’t hate it.”

Gideon stepped up to Harrow once more, crowding her until she stood with her knees touching the seat of the chair, legs spread on either side of Harrow’s. She bent forward enough for the robe to show a sliver of skin in the middle.

“Didn’t hate it, huh?”

Harrow made a sound in her throat before managing to stifle it. Almost like a whimper. Her gaze roamed greedily down over the curves of Gideon’s breasts, her stomach, the neat ginger curls between her thighs.

“Nor did you, by the looks of things. You’re… you’re wet.”

Gideon couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Never could’ve called it, to be honest. Getting wet over you telling me to get naked and almost being walked in on by the second.”

Harrow looked up at her and for a moment her expression softened. “It’s… because of me?”

“Yeah. Sure. Probably a fluke. Don’t let it inflate your ego even more. You’re bad enough as it is. Don’t we have some weird necro crap we should be doing right now?”

“Griddle.” The cold, unyielding steel of Drearburh was back in Harrow’s voice and Gideon found herself shutting up… and shivering all over. 

“Open up your robe and show yourself to me again.”

Fingers trembling, Gideon obeyed.

“Spread your legs.”

Heart pounding, Gideon obeyed.

“Touch yourself.”

Legs trembling, mind buzzing, Gideon obeyed.

The first brush of her fingers along the taut peak of her nipple was enough for her knees to buckle and for a shamefully needy moan to slip past her lips. The sensation shot through her body, left her skin covered in goose pimples, left the fine hairs on her arms standing on end. 

Harrow was watching her as intently as she ever had any tome or necromantic puzzle and Gideon couldn’t get enough of it. She squeezed at both her breasts, rough and so far past caring, that Teacher could’ve walked in and she likely wouldn’t have stopped unless Harrow told her to.

Her necromancer’s hands were clasped over her knees, but Gideon didn’t miss the way she sat with her legs squeezed together, rocking in place. The realisation added fuel to the fire alight between Gideon’s thighs.

She’d meant to draw things out. Tease Harrow. Drive her crazy. Get some control back. That plan went to shit pretty much right away. Gideon dropped her hand down to her sex, drawing her fingers through syrupy slickness. She was so fucking wet it wasn’t even funny.

What happened next was a one-time thing.

Gideon’s fingers slid along her cunt, trailing fire across her skin, and then she brushed up along her clit - and holy shit. She tried to draw her finger back, but it was too late, and with a ragged cry, Gideon came her brains out. Which was really fucking embarrassing. Seriously, who did that?

Gideon wondered about that as she melted down to her knees in front of Harrow.

“Griddle. Did you just do what I think you did?”

“Yup,” Gideon panted. “Damn… that was a bit one.”

Harrow’s brows furrowed. “You barely got started. I barely got to-“

She cut off when Gideon began to reach for her pants, pulling at them.

“What’re you doing?” Harrow asked.

“Wanna do you, too,” Gideon mumbled. “C’mon. You know you want me to. You like having me on my knees.”

Harrow considered that for a moment. “I will admit it suits you.”

When Gideon tried to dig her fingers inside of Harrow’s pants at her hips, the necromancer didn’t protest. She actually raised her scrawny little ass off the chair and let Gideon pull them off.

“Now what?” Harrow asked, panting.

Gideon didn’t answer. She pressed in between Harrow’s slender legs, drew in the heady scent of her and dove in. Harrow made a low, choked sound at the first touch, one that Gideon found herself echoing as she tasted her necromancer for the first time.

She’d read plenty about giving ladies head in her more illustrative magazines, but as usual, contact with the enemy had shattered all her planning… and yes, in this metaphor, Harrow and her vagina were the enemy. Because she was about to conquer them, and so it made perfect sense.

She started off tentative, slow, broad strokes of her tongue, aimless and uncoordinated. Harrow shifted impatiently in her seat. The taste wasn’t as good as she’d hoped, but not as bad as she’d feared either. She should’ve known the “sweet ambrosia” Dulcinea had narrated about from her smutty books was a complete load of shit.

She tried pressing her tongue flat to Harrow’s clit and the girl’s hips rolled forward, sloppily smearing her arousal over Gideon’s face.

“Keep still,” she admonished, reaching over the bony jut of the other girl’s hips and settling her hands on her ass - not bad, for some mystifying reason - and holding her in place.

“Oh fuck off, Griddle,” Harrow said.

Gideon would’ve responded with something witty. She had a long list of great comebacks, but she was a little bit busy. She spent some time experimenting, seeing what made Harrow tick. Direct stimulation seemed to be too much for her, so she kept things light and teasing, and kept that up.

Her knees hurt from her position on the hard stone floor, but it was too late to do anything about that. She could see Harrow’s body slowly but surely grow more and more tense, like a bowstring pulled back by a winch, each clack of the mechanism falling into place bringing her closer and closer to an inevitable end. Gideon felt herself answer that heat, hips rolling desperately at nothing, thighs squeezed together and smeared with arousal in hopes of scratching that particular itch. Finally, she relented and reached down between her own legs and touched herself.

Harrow’s back was arching now, her breath coming out in short, sharp staccato rasps, her hips rolling rhythmically against Gideon’s face.

“Oh. Oh! Gideon!”

Her body grew taut and stiff, her legs locked around Gideon’s head, greedily holding her in place.

Maybe it was Harrow calling out her name, maybe it was the fact that she was coming and Gideon was the one who’d made it happen. Probably a little bit of column A and column B. Either way, Gideon found herself furiously stroking herself, grunting against Harrow’s cunt as she came right behind her, a violent shiver ran down her body, all the way to the tips of her toes and fingers.

Harrow sank down out of the chair and into Gideon’s lap. Gideon wrapped her arms around her, just to keep her steady, and to her great surprise, Harrow seemed content to let her. For thirty seconds or so, they sat there in silence, catching their breaths, bodies pressed together and bleeding heat into one another. Then Harrow began to squirm, and Gideon let her go.

She couldn’t help the dull throb of arousal that pulsed through her as Harrow stood and pulled her pants back on, unable to hide how she could barely stand or how her thighs were smeared with need.

“So,” Gideon said. “I guess that makes us even.”

Harrow gave her a derisive sneer, but there was something almost soft in her eyes.

“Hardly. Get up. We’re returning to our room.”

“Why?”

“If you shut up and follow me, you’ll be finding out that much quicker, Griddle.”

Gideon snorted and reached for her pants,beginning to put them on.

“No,” Harrow said, her voice a low whip crack that made Gideon freeze. “I don’t recall telling you to get dressed. I told you we were going back to the room. You can carry the clothes.”

Gideon shivered again and it had absolutely nothing to do with her bare feet, her bare… everything. Harrow was looking at her like she was a manuscript on “How to make super-duper skeletons in 10 easy steps”.

So Gideon closed her robes, grabbed her clothes and pulled them together in an hopefully indistinct ball of black fabric and set them under her arm. Then she gave Harrow’s ass a firm swat and left the stunned, wide-eyed necromancer behind as she set off towards their room for whatever was to come.

“Come on, mistress,” she said, waiting in the doorway, and letting her robes fall open just a fraction. “Let’s see what kind of orders you’ve got the balls to give me when we’re alone.”


End file.
